The Beginning of the End
by Pink Mockingjay in Hufflepuff
Summary: Pascal Fierwel is a bright and well-liked teenager from District 3 with a lovely family. When his name gets pulled at his final Reaping, he gets thrown into a world he wasn't ever prepared for, leaving his family and everything he had ever known behind. Updated once a week or so (hopefully)! Pre-canon, but canon compliant. Side romance which isn't very important.
1. Part 1

_**I have been posting this story solely on The Hunger Games amino for a few months, but decided to post it here and on my AO3 as well. Hope you enjoy!**_

* * *

The ruins of the so-called town were of the industrial variety. He felt oddly at home there because of it.

District 3 was focused on technology and there were lots of factories, lots of computers, especially in the part he grew up in. He spent a lot of time playing hide and seek with his siblings in his father's place of work as a child. Because of this knowledge, he quickly found an entrance into the air duct system and used it to make his way to the roof of the building without being seen.

It wasn't an actual old building, they had made it look old for the arena. There were computers and other machinery scattered about, but they weren't functional. They could be good for parts, though for what he wasn't sure.

He wasn't sure how long it took him to edge his way up to the roof, but he was thankful then for his small frame as he didn't get stuck once.

Did they even outfit the airducts with cameras?

Of course they did. They put the airducts in, so they put cameras in as well, to watch some poor soul get stuck or some convoluted murder.

When he reached the vent to the outside, he punched at it and it came loose. No one had come this way yet. Good. They would be safe if they hid behind the equipment on the roof, at least for a little while. He made his way out.

The girl from 12 stumbled out behind him. They had bumped into each other in the small forested area and she had almost burst into tears out of fear he would kill her. He felt bad for her then, the skinny little thing whose biggest fear had come true on her first eligible year. He had broken his promise to himself that he would do everything alone and had taken her along with him. He wasn't about to leave the poor helpless little girl by herself. He couldn't.

When he looked at her, he thought of Ada.

His sweet little daughter looked nothing like the scrawny, gray-eyed child that stood before him. Ada, his healthily plump, porcelain skinned, ginger-haired, blue-eyed little princess, looked like she was from an entirely different world than his ally. But still, he felt an urge to protect her all the same.

"You okay, Raine?" He asked, looking at the smudge of a child beside him, checking for injuries.

Raine nodded and hugged her thin jacket around her body tighter. It had grown cold.

"Come here, kiddo." He said, sitting with his back against a smoke stack.

Raine sat beside him and snuggled into his side.

"You... have a little girl, right?" Raine asked shyly, looking up at him.

"Yeah," he replied. "Ada... she's almost 2."

Ada was his daughter. Well, sort of. His best friend was Ada's mother, but she had died in childbirth. Instead of Ada getting sent to the community home, he had stepped up and declared himself to be Ada's father, even though he wasn't. But Ada's real father couldn't care less about her, so he had taken on the role. Not many people knew the truth.

Ada called him "Daddy," and she was too little to understand much at this point. He was going to raise her as his own and let her believe it for as long as he could. But now he was sure he'd never see her grow up. Hopefully his parents would take care of her as they promised.

"Do you miss her?"

"More than anything,"

Raine snuggled more into him. "Since you're someone's dad, I trust you."

"Thank you, that means a lot to me." He looked to the little girl. "Why don't you get some sleep, Raine? I'll keep watch."

Raine nodded. "Okay,"

* * *

 _ **Please let me know what you think!**_


	2. Part 2

The night grew steadily colder and Raine pressed closer to his side in her sleep, shivering a bit.

He sighed. He wasn't getting any sleep tonight. Even though they were hidden at the top of a building, they were still out in the open all things considered, and someone had to keep an eye out.

He looked up at the sky that he knew was superimposed. The arena was all created by the Gamemakers and there was a dome over the whole arena, allowing them to control the weather and everything else in the arena. The weather in the arena was probably different than what was actually happening outside. For all he knew, it could actually be midday.

He wondered what his family was doing. Was it mandatory viewing time back home? Was his dad at work? Was Ada asleep? Was anyone he knew watching him right now? Was Ada crying for him?

Just the thought of Ada not understanding where he was and her being upset made him sick to his stomach. It physically pained him when she was upset. When his parents had brought her in to say goodbye after he was Reaped, she had wound her arms around his neck and held him tight. She knew something was going on. His parents and Ada had been the last in to say goodbye.

* * *

"This wasn't supposed to happen," he muttered, holding Ada close. It was his last year. He was supposed to go home with his family and have their celebratory Our Family is Safe lunch and play with Ada and hang out with his friends and carry on with his life. His name was only in there seven times. This wasn't fair.

But was it ever fair? Why did he deserve to live more than anyone else?

His mother sniffled and pushed his hair off of his face, tears shining in her eyes. "I know,"

"You'll… look after Ada for me, won't you?" He wasn't a trained career, there was no way he was coming home. The Games were more of a physical test than an intellectual one. If he made it through the Bloodbath, it would be a miracle. Three's victors usually won because they figured out some way to harness electricity before anyone else, sort of sheer luck aided by intelligence. If they even made it that far.

"Of course we will, Pas." His father replied quietly.

"Thank you,"

His mother sat beside him on the couch and kissed his head before hugging him. "Oh, my baby,"

"Don't let them change you, Pascal." His father said suddenly, in a stern voice. His father was a friendly, easy-going man. The difference from his usual tone made Pascal look up in surprise. "They're going to try. Remember who you are, son."

"I will," If he was going to die, he wouldn't die as a monster. He would die as Pascal, the friendly, funny, well-liked boy from District 3. To do that, he'd have to avoid any alliances. He had to be himself.

"We love you," added his father, in his usual softer tone.

"I love you too," Pascal replied, swallowing hard.

"Time's up," announced a Peacekeeper.

Pascal quickly kissed his crying mother's cheek and stood to hug his father. His mother tried to take Ada from him, but she held on tight and started to scream.

"No! No!"

Pascal tried to untangle her arms from around his neck. "Ada, you have to let me go now."

"No, Daddy!"

The Peacekeeper approached the family gruffly. "I said, time's up."

"Ada, you have to let Daddy go." His mother said on the verge of tears, holding onto Ada.

Ada's grip was tight. The Peackeeper roughly pulled Ada from Pascal's neck and thrust her into her grandmother's arms. Pascal's father was agitated at the behavior, but didn't dare speak up, he wrapped his arm around his wife. Ada screamed and reached her arms out towards her father and her grandmother had to clutch her tight to her body so that the child wouldn't fall out of her arms.

The Peackeeper pushed them out of the room, Ada still shrieking.

"I love you!" Pascal called after them before the door slammed shut. "I love you, Ada Grace! Always!"

The last he saw of Ada was her little face bright red with tears streaming down her cheeks, screaming for him.

He collapsed to the ground in tears. He could still hear his daughter. "I'm sorry, Row. I'm so sorry," he choked out. The first moment he had held Ada in his arms, he had promised Rowena, wherever she was, that he would always take care of her baby girl. He couldn't now. That promise was broken.

He didn't have much time to cry before he was yanked to his feet by the same Peacekeeper who had shoved his family out of his sight. He was lead to the train, where the escort greeted him with a high pitched voice that made him clench his teeth. His district partner, Agnes, a broody fourteen year old his brother didn't care much for, glared at him from the couch. Beetee Latier, his mentor, greeted him with a curt nod from the table.

He pushed his glasses up on his nose and dropped into a chair opposite his mentor. No one spoke until the train started rumbling and jerked to a start.

"This is the beginning of where it ends." Agnes sneered, crossing her arms tighter across her chest.

"Now, Agnes-" Beetee began.

"Neither of us have a chance, look at us." Agnes hissed, looking out the window. "Don't waste your breath,"

Pascal met Beetee's eyes. "Tough crowd," he muttered.

Beetee cracked a smile.

* * *

The anthem started playing and Raine started awake. It was loud. They both turned their attention to the sky. Nine tributes had died that day, eight in the bloodbath based off of the canons from earlier. Agnes was one of them. Flint, the boy from 12, another lost. Raine whimpered at the sight.

It was only day one. Looked like Agnes was right, it was the beginning of the end after all.


	3. Part 3

"Go, Raine, go!" Pascal hissed quietly.

"I-I don't know where to go-!" Raine whimpered. Pascal grabbed her hand and took off running down a hallway. Raine was quick and easily kept up with him, which was good.

The careers were after them. Or, after someone anyways. Pascal had woken from a light sleep to the voices of the boys from one and two. They were cocky and they were not at all quiet, so it wasn't hard for him to locate them standing outside what would've been the front door of the building. They were planning on coming in once their district partners and the kids from 4 arrived.

If it hadn't been for Raine, he would've shimmied down the air vents again, but Raine didn't know her way around a vent system like he did and he didn't want her to fall, get stuck, or make too much noise. They had to take the stairs.

That meant they were practically out in the open. They had to be fast and quiet and find some place to hide. Luckily for them, the building was meant to be an old office building. There would be plenty of places to hide, if they managed to get to a room before they were slaughtered.

They were 3 floors down from the top when they could hear the career's voices on the inside of the building through the stairwell. That's when Pascal had snagged Raine's hand and dashed down the hallway.

The voices grew closer as the careers tramped up the stairs.

"I know someone's in here," said a female voice teasingly from somewhere on the stairs. It echoed through the building and made Pascal's heart leap into his throat.

Many of the rooms had open doors and Pascal pulled Raine into one on the left side of the hallway, the second room before the dead end. The room had a table overturned in front of a closet. Without thinking much, he dove behind the overturned table. He hadn't let go of Raine and she was dragged along, but she wasn't ready. Her leg caught on a table leg as she collapsed to the ground. She cried out in surprise as she fell face first onto the floor.

"Hmm, scared are we? Come out now and I'll make this as painless as possible." Said the girl's voice from before. Another voice snickered.

Pascal yanked Raine the rest of the way behind the table and into the little alcove of the open closet and clamped a hand over her mouth before pulling her tightly to his side. She was trembling. She had just made it that much easier for them to be caught, but it wasn't her fault, not really.

"Sh, it's okay." He whispered into her ear, even though his brain kept repeating that this was how he was going to die.

He had kept a close eye on the careers during training. They were physically strong, but not all that intelligent from the looks of things. He knew he had to outsmart them if he had any chance of getting home, but it might already be too late for that. If they could smell fear, they would find them any second. They were already going through different rooms

At the sound of approaching footsteps, he hunched over even lower and squeezed his eyes shut. Please, he thought, make it fast.

Suddenly, a door slammed somewhere below them.

"There's one down here!" cried a deep voice and the approaching footsteps went running in the other direction and down the steps.

Another tribute was in the building. Pascal was just asking himself how long the other person was in there and how stupid they must have been to slam a door when a sharp scream filled the air.

Raine pressed her hands to her ears, but Pascal still heard another scream and the shattering of glass that followed. A shiver ran down his spine as the careers laughed about their newest kill.

They had pushed someone out a window from at least three stories up. Whether they were already dead or not, it still seemed extra cruel. But if they hadn't, someone from the Capitol would have had to come in to retrieve the body. Hovercrafts couldn't get into buildings as far as Pascal knew.

The laughter subsided and was replaced by voices and the occasional chuckle, but Pascal was relieved to hear that the voices trailed farther away until he could no longer hear them. The rumble of the hovercraft soon came and went, and only once it was gone did he release his grip on Raine.

As the adrenaline subsided, he realized he had gotten rug burn on the hand that hadn't been holding Raine's from diving. It stung, but he could live with it. Raine had knocked her head into the ground, but other than a sore nose and a small bump on her temple as well as a newly forming bruise on her leg, she seemed okay except for the tears welling up in her eyes.

"Sorry, I'm sorry! My mama says I'm clumsy sometimes."

"You have nothing to apologize for. I shouldn't have pulled you down like that." Pascal replied with a kind, sad smile as he brushed a loose lock of hair off her forehead, carefully avoiding the bump. Her ponytail was already falling out.

"I almost," she sniffled. "I almost let them get us 'cause I made a noise!"

"It's really okay, Raine. I promise. You and I are still here."

"They pushed someone out a window. That could've been us."

Pascal sighed. She was right, it could have been. They sat in silence for a few moments before Pascal adjusted his glasses and stood up. He offered a hand to Raine, who took it. "It's not safe here any more. We have to get moving."

Raine nodded and dutifully followed after him. Thankfully, they wouldn't have to walk past the room the other tribute was murdered in because of the stair placement, but if he was correct and they went the way he wanted to go, they would walk past the place where the tribute landed outside the building. When they got out of the building, he walked on Raine's right on purpose to block the sight of the fall from her. He, however, stole a glance in the direction and was hit with a wave of nausea when he saw they shattered glass and a small pool of blood. He turned away quickly, took Raine by the hand once more, and they hurried on. There was a house-looking building in the distance and they way there was through the forested area. Perhaps they would be safe there.

* * *

"So, you have a daughter?" Beetee asked Pascal after the arrival to the Training Center. Agnes had gone off to her room and Wiress was wandering about. The escort, a blue haired, bespectacled young woman, had gone off to do something she considered important.

"I… yes." Pascal replied. Most of the tributes wouldn't arrive until the next day, so he didn't need to worry about anything at the moment.

Beetee rested his hands on the table in front of him.

"How old is she?"

"Almost two,"

"And your… girlfriend I'd imagine, unless you've married her, has her now?"

"My parents do actually, Row- my, my girlfriend… she's… dead."

He had been lying since Ada's birth to everyone but his immediate family. The store was he and Rowena were secretly dating and Rowena was too embarrassed to admit Pascal, her childhood best friend, was Ada's father while she was alive so her parents wouldn't hate him. None of that was true, as even Pascal didn't know who Ada's father was other than the fact that it certainly wasn't him. As Ada grew, his mother said maybe they'd find out based on her looks, but so far, Ada looked like her mother.

"Ah, my sincerest apologies, young man. So much has happened to you at your young age already."

Pascal could only nod his head a little in response.

"So Ada is your daughter, and your girlfriend was… Row?"

"Rowena, actually." Pascal corrected, fidgeting with the bracelet made of wire and other spare parts on his wrist. It had been Rowena's, she had given it to him to hold onto the day she died and he had worn it every day since. He looked down at the carefully braided piece of jewelry. "I called her Row."

"Now, I know this seems a little… distasteful, but in a few weeks, when you do your interview, I think it'd be in your best interest if you brought up Ada and Rowena. I don't want you to talk about how smart you are if you can help it."

Pascal looked back up to his mentor. "How did you-?"

"You graduated top of your class, Mister Fierwel. I've heard a lot about you."


	4. Part 4

The walk to the house was relatively uneventful, to Pascal's surprise.

There were a few times where he and Raine had to duck down behind some bushes to avoid being seen by the girl tribute from seven. She had a lot to live up to, last year's victor was a female from 7, Johanna Mason. She played the innocent little girl act and then wound up being a ruthless killer and 7's only living female victor. This year's girl was 15 and much bigger physically, but she lacked prowess with a weapon and intelligence. She was a hulking figure with wildly curly brown hair tied into a bun. She had physical strength going for her, but she was too noisy for anyone to be dumb enough to cross paths with her. She was an even louder walker than Pascal, and he thought that was a feat in itself.

Pascal placed Raine at the very edge of the tree line, so she could make a quick getaway if she needed to, and did a careful round of the house before deciding it was safe to enter. He waved to Raine who darted over to him. Opening a window would be too risky, what if they got stuck halfway in? Pascal decided to just try the door. It opened. Raine was about to slip inside, when a figure materialized in front of them.

"Freeze," said a voice, before a knife was held to Raine's neck. Raine froze in fear, but Pascal shoved her back and behind him.

"Easy there, pal. We don't want to hurt you." Pascal said, holding his hands up. The figure belonged to the little boy from 11. He was around Raine's age.

"Why should I trust you?"

"We're unarmed. We just wanted some place to stay tonight."

"Prove it," urged the boy, directing the knife to Pascal.

"Can it, Amos. They ain't gonna hurt no one. Look at 'em. Impressed they made it this far."

Pascal looked up to see the male tribute from 10. He was taller, stronger than Pascal, but there was a softness in his green eyes that was visible even in the dim light. Pascal remembered him from training. He had hair that fell in dirty blonde curls over his forehead.

Raine peeked out around Pascal.

"You're the girl from 12, ain't you little one?" Asked the boy from 10. What was his name? Mark? Matt? No, Maverick.

Raine didn't answer and hide behind Pascal again.

"Yes, she is." Pascal responded.

"We've been looking' for ya. Us outer kids oughta stay together." Maverick replied, as if Raine had been the one to confirm her identity. The girls from 10 and 11 were long dead.

"Yeah, why're you with him?" Amos asked Raine, glaring at Pascal.

"3 ain't a career district, you fool. He's about as prepared as you or I. Probably less, they do computers, no outside work for the likes of him."

"Still rich though," Amos sneered.

3 was wealthier than the outer districts, but they didn't compare to 1, 2, and 4 in terms of wealth. Not really. Although compared to these boys, Pascal's average childhood made him appear to live like a king.

Maverick smacked Amos upside the head. "Ah, let up on him. He kept the little one safe all this time. We oughta give him a fair chance."

"Nothing about this is fair." Was Amos' reply.

"When you're right, you're right." Maverick shrugged. "I still say we let 'em in."

Amos sighed and plopped down to the ground.

"Gimme the knife, kid." Maverick demanded of Amos, who groaned, but did as he was told. Maverick waved Pascal and Raine in. "Allies?"

Pascal stuck his hand out and shook on it. Raine did too, shyly, before nervously clutching Pascal's hand.

What had he done? He had promised himself he'd do this alone, and then he took in Raine, and now they were allied with these boys. Pascal didn't trust Amos as far as he could throw him, which wasn't far considering Pascal had, as his brother said, the upper arm strength of a baby. Maverick seemed alright, but there could only be one winner. Odds were that all four of their families would have to watch them die. But at least he and Raine were safe for the minute.

Maverick fished apples out of his pack and handed one to Raine and one to Pascal before handing one to Amos and keeping one for himself. Pascal sat on the floor and Raine sat beside him. Amos glared at Pascal over his apple. Raine tucked herself into his side.

The two of them were getting out of here as soon as they could, he didn't know how or when, but they were.

* * *

"How did I get here?"

Pascal looked over at Rowena. This wasn't a question he could answer, especially because he knew very little about the situation.

"I… just can't believe it."

They were laying beside each other on his bed- their heads where his feet went and their feet up on the wall above his pillow. They had done this since they were kids. It felt natural at this point.

After a few beats of silence, Pascal asked the question that had been nagging him since he learned she was pregnant earlier that day. "Are you going to keep it?"

She sighed. "It feels kinda wrong to bring a baby into this world… would I be selfish if I did anyway? Like, I don't want to have a kid only to maybe loose it in the Games. I don't know how our parents can live with that. But then again…" Rowena's hand brushed over her abdomen. She wasn't showing yet, there was no bump under her hand. "I… I kind of… I want to keep it."

"If that's what you want, Row, you do that."

"But how will I-?

"Hey, I'm here for you. I always will be. And you know my parents will be too. We love you. We'll support you no matter what. Especially me. I'll help you figure it out. Don't worry."

Rowena turned to face him, a faint smile on her lips. "I love you, Pascal."

"I love you too, Row. Always." He smiled as the familiar phrase came out of his mouth. They said they loved each other every day since they became friends at age five and it meant just as much as it did that day every time they said it.


	5. Part 5

Ada's tiny body was curled against his. She had her thumb in her mouth, her little white blanket scrunched up under her chin, and her little legs were splayed out, pajamas dotted with pastel polka dots.

He shared his bed with Ada some nights. Sometimes she'd nod off in his arms, sometimes he'd place her there, and as of late, sometimes she'd climb out of her crib and into his bed. This time was the latter. Perhaps she had picked up on his grief.

He didn't mind at all. Ada's soft breathing and cuddles reminded him that she was safe.

After loosing Rowena, life seemed much more fragile. Row was 16 when she died, so cheerful and full of life and love for the tiny human she was carrying. It was Pascal's closest encounter with death, with the finality of mortality. He hated it.

But understanding the uncertainty of life made him cherish Ada that much more. The little girl had inherited a joyful, personable demeanor from her mother and there was never a dull moment with Ada around.

He loved quiet moments with Ada as much as the loud. It made him happy to have stepped up to raise her. He could only imagine it would have been what Rowena had wanted and that knowledge coupled with the fact that Ada looked more and more like her mother each day while developing a clear personality of her own made Pascal feel closer to his beloved friend than ever. Sometimes it was hard, like it was this night, on what would've been Rowena's 17th birthday, but usually it put him at ease.

He was seventeen. Seventeen year olds weren't usually parents in his neck of the woods. But he had never felt such pure joy in his life as he had when Ada had greeted him at the door after school one day with a stuffed animal clenched in her fist and her first enthusiastic shout of "Daddy!". He loved Ada. He loved being her father. He dreaded the day he would have to tell her the truth, but that was a long way away. He hoped she would understand.

His friends teased him, calling him Dad, but they loved Ada. It was hard not to. Everyone loved Ada.

Ada shifted in her sleep and made the smallest of noises. Pascal smiled and brushed some wispy little hairs off her forehead and then kissed her head. The room was dark. Originally that night he had made it extra dark to allow himself to wallow in his sorrows, but with his little girl at his side, he felt peace.

* * *

Pascal stared up at the dark ceiling. He had always had trouble falling asleep. His mind just wouldn't turn off easily. His mother would stay up with him with he was young, rubbing his back and cuddling. His father often mentioned that since he was so intelligent and had anxiety, his brain had two reasons to stay awake. He wanted to know how everything worked and he was also worried about everything and everything was just an endless cycle in his mind.

It was even worse in the arena. Even Raine had managed to fall asleep on the hard ground. Amos and Maverick were asleep too. Pascal had decided to spend his sleeplessness trying to figure out how to get out of the house with Raine.

A flash of movement caught his eye and a second later, he heard a frightened sounding squeak.

"Quiet! If you say anything, if you move, you're dead," hissed Amos.

Pascal fumbled for his glasses and sat up as he put them on. The hours he had spent staring at the dark ceiling had shown useful as it allowed his eyes to adjust to seeing in the dark. Amos was leaning over a trembling Raine, a knife held against her neck. Pascal didn't wait to see what Amos' plan was with the little girl before speaking up.

"What do you think you're doing? Get off her!" Pascal shouted, pushing himself to his feet.

Amos, startled, jumped back from Raine, who turned over and scurried across the room on her hands and knees.

Pascal wasn't a fighter, but he'd fight this twerp of a kid for Raine if he had to.

"What were you planning on doing to her?" Pascal demanded, taking a step towards the boy.

Amos stood then too, but he was not as tall as Pascal. It was clear that the boy from 11 was not expecting confrontation. He stamped in his reply. "None of your business,"

"He asked what you were plannin' on, boy. If you were smart, you'd answer." Boomed a voice. Maverick. The bigger boy strode over to Amos and ripped the knife from the boy's hand. He must have been hiding that one.

"I-I was just gonna have a little fun with her."

Maverick's rage was palpable. "How dare you! She's a damn-near baby and so are you! You… you sick…" Maverick trailed off and all but plucked Amos off the floor by the back of his jacket. "I don't take too kindly to that behavior. This is the end of the line, kid."

Maverick carried Amos outside with one hand.

Pascal bit his lip and fought off a shiver of horror. He knew he didn't trust that kid. He shook his head and went over to Raine. She was shaken up, but not hurt. Pascal thanked God that he was awake and was able to stop Amos.

Raine practically crawled into Pascal's lap and he hugged her. He didn't want to bring anything up. He didn't want to upset her more.

"I-I wish I had a book." Raine murmured after a short stint of silence.

"A book? Do you like to read?"

She nodded. "When I can. It's not easy to get them where I live. I got a couple of my own though. Sometimes I read them to my baby sister."

"You have a baby sister?" he questioned, thankful for the change of topic. It seemed to have distracted her.

"Mhm. She's five and her name's Winter."

Pascal and Raine talked for a little while longer about her family and home before Raine once again fell asleep, though this time she was curled into Pascal.

Maverick came back in soon after. There had not been a canon. He had not killed the little creep.

"She asleep?" Maverick whispered.

"Yes," Pascal replied.

"Good. Didn't want her to hear the canon." Maverick replied equally as softly.

"There wasn't one."

"There will be. Soon. I made sure of it. Just didn't want her to know I was responsible."

Pascal nodded. Maverick seemed like a nice guy. In a different time and place, they would've probably made really good friends.

"You're good with this little lady." Maverick continued as he unzipped his pack. Pascal wasn't sure what he was looking for, but there was dark blood on the boy's hands. "You the one who's got the baby back home?"

"Yes,"

"Cryin' shame. You're probably a real good dad."

"Thanks," Pascal replied, genuinely touched. "Do you have any kids in your family, Maverick?"

"No, my folks only had me. My girl's got a whole herd of little brothers and sisters though. They're damn cute. I miss 'em… I hope they miss me too."

Maverick spoke no more. He settled back down to sleep. Pascal stayed awake.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed before he heard Amos' canon go off. The sound was jarring in the practically silent arena and it made Raine stir.

Pascal brushed hair off her forehead gently and tried his best to fall asleep.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Hi! I hope you're enjoying the story! Please leave a comment to let me know your thoughts! Thanks!**_


	6. Part 6

Pascal didn't sleep as well as he hoped. He couldn't stop thinking about what had almost happened to Raine, what could be happening back at home, all of the wild things that could still happen to him in the arena.

He sat awake against the wall, the little house dim in the dawn. Raine was till curled against him and Maverick was snoring on the floor. His chest felt tight and his whole body felt like it was buzzing. An endless assault of thoughts spun in his mind. Even things that didn't make sense, that couldn't happen, pelted him. His throat constricted and he felt like crying.

Not now, he thought to himself as he twisted his hands, not now.

How long had it been since the Reaping? He couldn't remember. Too long.

Too long to be without his medication anyway.

He had been diagnosed when he was five. He had been biting his nails low enough to make his fingers bleed for years, had headaches so frequently that his parents had taken him back to the eye doctor several times fearing that his glasses prescription was off, and was easily frightened. He was always clingy to his parents, but when he cried all the way through his first two weeks of kindergarten, complaining of stomachaches and worrying about everything, that's when it was suggested that he be looked over by a doctor.

As a kindergartener, Pascal had Generalized Anxiety Disorder added to his medical records alongside his poor vision. He was in therapy for a year and it helped some, but soon he was placed on medication as well. The meds had changed him for the better, he became less clingy, more confident, and his chronic headaches and upset stomachs all but vanished in a matter of weeks. He began excelling in school, making friends, and enjoying life, and his mother often praised the medication for allowing her the chance to finally meet her middle child. Luckily, his family could afford all his treatments.

He still had bad days on his medication, though they were few and far between, and even his worst medicated days were legions more tolerable than they would have been otherwise. After Rowena died, he spent over a week at home wringing his hands and not sleeping for fear of who else could die and leave him and of worrying so much about taking on the role of Ada's father that he was physically sick. Since then, he had been doing well overall.

The Capitol didn't allow medication to be taken into the arena, and even if they had, it isn't like Pascal would've had the foresight to put his prescription bottle in his pocket before the Reaping to take it with him anyhow.

It had been a very long time since Pascal felt like he was on the verge of a full blown anxiety attack. Usually, he would have already opened up his sketchbook, gotten out one of his several fidgets his sister and brother had crafted for him over the years, seemed out a hug from one of his parents, or gone to the piano which always relaxed him. The only things he really had to fidget with in the arena were the zipper on his jacket and Row's bracelet.

He rubbed his hand on the side of his face over and over, a grounding technique turned nervous habit as he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to think of one of his favorite songs to play on the piano instead of throwing up. He couldn't break down in this place. Not where the whole country could see him. Not where Raine could see him falter, where Maverick could think him weak. He had to hold it together.

The song was an old song. His father had learned it from his mother when he was a child who had learned it from her mother and on and on. His sister and mother sang when he played it back home, and once upon a time Rowena had as well. His tone-deaf baby brother would dance and spin with Ada as their father improvised on the open keys.

His fingers ached to feel the white keys beneath them as the music and words of the familiar tune drifted into his mind.

 _The dog days are over_

 _The dog days are done_

 _The horses are coming_

 _So you better run_

* * *

"You- you've heard about me?" Pascal stammered to his mentor.

"Certainly. There's only one student each year who graduates top of the class, Mister Fierwel, and being as gifted as you are it is no wonder that I heard your name from some of the most high-profile individual in our district and even the Capitol."

Pascal cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. Capitol people had spoken of him? But why?

"Your whole family is bright, but you are a standout. Software engineering, building computers, a reasonably competent artist, and a musician? That's quite the impressive set of skills. Everyone's hoping you'll work for them."

"Thank you, sir." Pascal replied. He had taken up his hobbies at the urging of his therapist who had encouraged him to keep his mind productively busy in order to use up extra energy in order to help keep his anxiety at bay. His sister could take anything apart and put it back together and was working as a technology aide at their father's job. His brother had a practically photographic memory and was a genius with robotics. Pascal wasn't special.

"Please, call me Beetee." The older man said with a grin.

Pascal nodded. "Please call me Pascal then."

"Alright," Beetee replied. "As I was saying, I think it'd be in your best interest to keep your remarkable intelligence a secret from the Gamemakers and your fellow tributes."

"Like the girl from 7 did last year?"

"Yes, like Johanna. But instead of strength, you are hiding your brain. Don't play stupid, just be average- a reasonably intelligent boy from District 3 who just wants to go back to his daughter."

That shouldn't be hard.

"Now," Beetee said, checking his watch. "I imagine your escort will be back soon to gather you and Agnes for the parade preparations.

Pascal pushed his glasses up on his nose and nodded.

"Don't loose yourself, Pascal. I think you may have a chance of going home."


	7. Part 7

"RUN! Split up!" Maverick shouted from behind Pascal. "GO GO GO!"

Pascal's heart leapt into his throat as his legs moved without thinking. He ran to the left, towards the ruins, and presumably Raine dashed off to the right, but Pascal didn't turn to look at what Maverick was warning of or where Raine went. He just ran.

This was it. They had split up. There was no way they were going to be able to find each other now. He couldn't protect Raine anymore. His anxiety at the thought only made his legs move faster.

A scream echoed behind him- high pitched and frightened.

Raine. It had to be.

Pascal slowed. He was going to turn around, to sit with her, hold her hand. Maybe she would be okay.

The sound of the canon echoed off the crumbling buildings.

A shiver ran down Pascal's spine as he continued his sprint to the city ruins. He wiped at his stinging eyes as he ran.

When he couldn't run anymore, he collapsed against the side of a brown brick building, gasping for air. His lungs burned along with his eyes.

Two more canons fired in quick succession. Maverick was dead too. And he had taken their attacker with him.

His stomach churned at the thought of Raine being killed, of Maverick dying. A ferocious nausea overtook his being, from running, from loss, from the anxiety of being all alone.

It was not the kind of nausea that made you sick, it was the kind that stuck around for hours, for days, and made a person miserable.

The last time he had felt it was when Rowena died. It hadn't come on immediately, it had come on that night when he stumbled into his house and fell to his knees in the living room, when the day caught up to him. It was only soothed when he held Ada, but even she couldn't make it go away entirely. Ada wouldn't be able to calm him now.

He pulled his knees to his chest and rested his forehead on them, trying to take deep breaths. Hot tears streamed down his cheeks as he rubbed at his face to try and calm down.

He didn't care that he was out in the open, or that his crying was loud, or he looked like a fool sobbing into his knees like a child, this was too much.

Beetee was wrong. He couldn't make it home. He was weak, so weak.

He didn't have a scratch on him, but the emotional pain would tear him apart if someone didn't find him and kill him first.

The rest of the day had passed with Pascal rooted to the spot, frozen with anguish, occasionally praying for Raine and Maverick and Agnes and the other tributes lost.

He didn't dare speak the prayers aloud, not in the arena. Religion was illegal in Panem, but both sides of his family had been Catholic years and years ago, and his dad often said that the on running joke for years on his side was that Catholicism always finds a way. Pascal and his siblings had been raised with as much religion as their parents knew and dared to teach them, it was limited to mostly praying and some estimated holy days, but it wasn't strict by any means. Pixel, his big sister, had been kissing girls since she was thirteen and Pascal had a long term boyfriend once and their parents never batted an eye. The idea of a loving God comforted Pascal, who spent his entire life worrying, and so he prayed for his fellow tributes because God loved them too, right? And surely God understood the circumstances their situation and would take them to a better place.

There were no more canons that day.

The anthem played and Pascal slowly turned his face to the hologram of a sky where they would show the fallen tributes. The boy from District Four was pictured first, followed by the imposing figure of Maverick. The boy from 10 had killed a career single-handed.

Amos' picture was shown next. Pascal couldn't believe it had been less than 24 hours since that incident had happened. It felt like an eternity had passed.

Raine was pictured last- small, with an uncertain look on her face. Pascal felt a pain in his heart as the projection disappeared, taking Raine's sweet face with it.

"I'm sorry," his whispered hoarsely to no one in particular. He had failed her. She had died alone.

He had wanted to be alone in the Games initially, but not like this. Never like this.

Beeping radiated from above him and a decently sized parachute landed gently beside him. Pascal examined it with interest.

He had sponsors? But why?

He wiped his face with his sleeve and his glasses on his shirt before opening the parachute:

 _Food and supplies from a generous sponsor, as you no longer have access to a pack. Be strong, remember who you are. -BT_

Below Beetee's message was a hand scribbled note:

 _Thank you for being good to Raine. -Haymitch Abernathy_

Haymitch Abernathy was District 12's old drunk mentor, victor of the 50th Hunger Games and 12's second ever, and only living, winner. He didn't seem to care much about anything from what Pascal could tell, so the very idea that Haymitch cared enough to send his thanks was shocking.

Pascal folded the note and shoved it deep into his pocket before going through the rest of the parachute. Sure enough, there were packets of food, a knife, a length of rope, a water bottle with water, ointment for potential wounds, and a small black backpack. Someone believed in him. Maybe his time wasn't up.

"Thank you," Pascal said, loud enough to be sure the cameras would pick it up, before packing his bag carefully.

He shakily got to his feet and started off to find an entry point into the red brick building. He was trembling all over, but he had made up his mind. And Pascal Fierwel was nothing if not stubborn.

* * *

Applause filled the air as the girl from 2 rose from chair aided by Caesar Flickerman. She disappeared from the stage on the tv as she appeared through the door. She sneered at her fellow tributes as she passed them.

Pascal was ushered forwards.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Pascal Fierwel from District 3!"

Pascal stepped out onto the stage where he was greeted by an uproarious cheer. The lights were blinding, but he made his way to the chairs.

"Welcome, Pascal," Caesar said, shaking his hand. "Please, have a seat."

Pascal sat in the chair beside the man decked out in bright green. Pascal himself was wearing a silver suit that seemed much too reflective under the hot stage lights.

"Now, Pascal. You're one of our oldest tributes this year. There are only three 18 year olds, including yourself. Do you think this gives you an advantage at all?"

"I'm not sure, to be honest. I'm certainly not the strongest or most well prepared." Pascal responded easily. Be likable, pull the pity card. He stole a glance at the obnoxiously colorful crowd who looked riveted to hear him speaking. His prep team had cooed over him, calling him handsome and cute. He wasn't sure how he felt about all that. Pascal twisted the bracelet around on his wrist as Caesar spoke again.

"That is a fair point. You did score a 7, however, so you must have a decent grasp on something. Isn't he being modest?"

The crowd cheered.

"Truthfully, I did a little bit of a few different things… and I guess that was good."

"Interesting strategy." Caesar said. "I've noticed you toying with that bracelet on your wrist. Is that your token?"

Pascal looked down at the accessory and then back up. "Yes,"

"Surely it has special meaning for you to bring it here. Is it your mother's? Or perhaps a sister's?"

"No, it- it's…" Pascal looked up again, where he could just barely make out Beetee nod at him from the front row of the crowd. "It's Rowena's."

"Rowena?" Caesar questioned, with an amused tone. "Why, I didn't know you had a little lady waiting for you back home! Though it doesn't come as much of a surprise. You're a fine young man, but go back the victor and she'd be ridiculous to leave you!"

The crowd cheered and laughed.

"She's not… she's, she died." Pascal explained, looking back down to his bracelet. The crowd fell silent.

"Oh, my condolences." Caesar replied, looking genuine. "That bracelet must be very important to you if it belonged to her."

"It is very important. The most important part of her I have is back home, though. I couldn't bring it."

"Oh? And what might that be?"

"My daughter. Ada Grace."

A pitiful sounding murmur went through the crowd.

"Daughter?"

"Yes. Rowena… died due to complications from childbirth almost two years ago and I…" Pascal felt tears prick his eyes. "I have our daughter. And I love her more than anything."

The crowd cooed.

Ada was Rowena's daughter by blood and his daughter by love. It didn't feel like much of a lie to call the toddler theirs.

Pascal fingered the bracelet once more.

"Pascal, I think I can speak for all of us here tonight in saying that I hope you can make your daughter proud. Let's hear it for Pascal from District 3!" Caesar said, standing up. Pascal joined him and allowed Cesar to hold his arm high in the air as the thunderous applause crashed over him.

He didn't feel like the Games were the place where he could make anyone proud, least of all his baby girl.


	8. Part 8

"Happy birthday dear Rowena, happy birthday to you!" The rousing, off-key chorus ended the birthday song with an over-exaggerated flourish.

The glow from the candles shone on Rowena's face as she giggled happily.

"Make a wish and blow out the candles!" encouraged twelve year old Linus.

Rowena closed her eyes for a second before leaning forward to blow out 16 candles. The Fierwel family and some of Rowena's friends applauded and cheered.

"What'd you wish for, Row?" Vista, a shorter girl with bouncy blonde curls asked.

"I can't tell you!" Rowena laughed. "It won't come true!"

Pascal laughed at his friend.

Mrs. Fierwel brought over a knife and plates. She handed the knife to Rowena to make the first cut. Rowena cut herself a slice and then began cutting the cake for everyone else.

Once the cake was passed out, Rowena joined Pascal and the rest of their in the living room. Rudy got off the couch and gestured for Rowena to sit as he took a seat on the floor.

Pascal was in the seat next to Rowena and he reached out and smeared a bit of lavender frosting from his piece of cake on her nose, looking proud of himself.

She scrunched up her face and shoved him with her shoulder before giggling. Pascal laughed. It had been a while since he had seen his friend so genuinely happy.

Rowena had been feeling very emotional and achey the last several weeks. She was nearing the end of her pregnancy and it wasn't going very smoothly for her. Her birthday had cheered her up exponentially it seemed and it made Pascal and his family pleased.

Rowena had spent nearly every birthday from age six onward with Pascal's family. Her parents loved her in some loose regard, but they weren't very attentive to her and she had practically raised herself. Her parents said they were too busy with their own lives to take care of her and that she was plenty smart enough to raise herself. She was extremely bright, but her parents' dismissive nature left her very lonely and was sort of starved of human affection for the first few years of her life.

Pascal befriended her in Kindergarten as she was one of the only people who tried to be nice to him before his anxiety diagnosis. Soon, she was spending afternoons and weekends with the Fierwels and sometimes she spent the night as well as her parents often weren't home whenever Pascal and his father went to take her home.

Her artwork and report cards often ended up on the refrigerator beside the Fierwel children's. Pixel and Linus treated her as a sister and Mr. and Mrs. Fierwel adored her. Pascal was also happy his best friend got to be around so often.

When she found out she was pregnant, her parents all but disowned her. They were going to allow her to live with them until the baby was born and then she was on her own. Pascal told his parents of their intentions and they welcomed her, and her yet unborn child, into their home permanently with every intention of supporting the two of them forever. Rowena tried to argue, but Pascal and his parents pleaded so that she could be safe and she finally agreed.

Pixel didn't spend much time at home any more as she was in a serious relationship with a sweet girl, so she very kindly gave up her room to Rowena and the baby as she was planning to move out with her girlfriend soon and when she was home, she opted to sleep on the couch even though Rowena protested. She also bought Rowena brand new bedding.

Rowena became a part of the Fierwel family as a child and was included in many family traditions and celebrations, as well as some family pictures. They all loved her and she loved them just as much in return.

"Did you have a nice birthday?" Pascal asked later that evening as Rowena was sitting criss-cross on his bed in her dark purple and white chevron pajamas and braiding her hair.

"Yes, it was fantastic!" Rowena replied happily, tying off the end of her second French braid. "I had so much fun!"

"Good, I'm glad." Pascal replied.

Rowena smiled and lightly rested a hand on her rounded abdomen. "I didn't feel so sick today. I think this little lady was going easy on me so I could enjoy myself."

Pascal chuckled. "She sure likes to make you uncomfortable, doesn't she?"

"She sure does. I hope she's not so much trouble when she gets here." Rowena replied good-naturedly.

Pascal leaned over so he was close to Rowena's stomach. "Hey did you hear that, little one? Be nice to your mama."

Rowena laughed. She had rosy cheeks and was glowing with happiness. She was young of course, being just sixteen, but Pascal knew she was going to be a great mother, she already was.

"Did I tell you I think I've finally picked out her name?" Row asked.

"No, you didn't." Pascal responded, pushing his glasses back up on his nose. "What is it?"

"I think I'll name her Ada Grace."

"That's a beautiful name, Row."

"You think so?"

"I do," Pascal replied.

Rowena smiled and she flushed faintly before yawning. "I think I should go to bed. It's been a busy day."

Pascal nodded. "Go get some sleep, Row."

Rowena slowly got off of the bed with some difficulty. "Good night, Pascal. I love you."

"I love you too, Row. Always."

Rowena started out the door of Pascal's room towards her own.

"Hey Row?" Pascal called just as she disappeared from his sight. She poked her head back into his room. "Am I allowed to know what you wished for?"

Rowena's surprised expression relaxed into a sleepy and content smile. "I actually wished for two things, but I guess I can tell you one. I wished for a happy, healthy little girl."

"That's a good wish. I hope they both come true. Good night for real, Row. And good night to Ada Grace too."

Rowena hummed in response and waved before heading off to her room to sleep.

* * *

Think, think, think.

Pascal shook his head. He couldn't think straight. It was getting so hard for him to think clearly. Everything was so fuzzy and it was hard to think through anything he was doing.

He was sitting on the floor of an office of the crumbling brick building. He had dragged in all the computers and monitors he could find and spread them on the floor all around him. He had barricaded the door with every piece of furniture from the floor: tables, chairs, desks, and filing cabinets.

He had taken apart two computer towers with little more than his hands and the knife he had gotten in his parachute. He had to keep taking breaks, it was hard to focus. His mind was all over the place, it had been too long without his medication. He hadn't felt so out of it and flustered since he was very small. The adrenaline of trying to survive, of trying to keep Raine alive, had worn off and he felt out-of-sorts and on the edge of tears. It had been hours since he had lost Raine, since the pictures of the fallen had been projected onto the sky.

He had started taking apart the computers before checking for potential electricity sources, because computers were no good without electricity, but quickly went to work trying to find some source. It seemed as though one of the outlets in the room he was in had a faint connection to some sort of electricity, so he had returned to his business of dismembering the computers.

He tried to put all his attention towards taking apart the computers, but it was hard considering it felt like he was struggling to breathe.

"This is it," he mumbled. "This is it. I'm gonna die here alone in a room full of computers."

The irony of it all made him chuckle out loud.

Suddenly, the blaring of the Capitol anthem made Pascal look up from us work. It had been longer than he thought. He went to the window. One death in the last 24 hours.

By his calculations, that meant there were eight tributes left alive, including himself. He was in the final 8. It was time for family interviews to take place back home. The whole country would be watching as his family talked about him, cried over him, as families usually did. Odds are, the country would see his sweet little Ada Grace too.

It felt a little shallow to hope someone would take pity on his poor daughter and help him out of the arena alive, but stranger things had happened. Finnick Odair had gotten the most expensive sponsor gift of all time in a trident in the final 8. Perhaps someone in the Capitol would feel bad if Pascal died and made his daughter an orphan so they would try and help him more than someone already had.

He wasn't sure if a tribute in the Games had ever been a parent. If someone was, they didn't mention it much or at all. He would have remembered that. But, with the poverty and seemingly lack of a decent education in the outer districts, he wouldn't be surprised if the Games had taken the lives of several, if not dozens, of teenaged parents.

He'd have to ask his parents if they remembered anyone else if he got home.

 _If._

He wondered what his family would be saying about him. He wondered if his dad would record the segment off the television, so Ada would have something to remember him by as she grew up. Would his brother and sister pick on him even when he couldn't see, even if he never would, even if they didn't mean to.

The thought of it all was so overwhelming, all he could do was lay down. Tears pricked his eyes, but he didn't-couldn't cry.

This was all too much. Way too much.

He wanted to be home with Pixel and Linus and his mom and dad and Ada. He wanted to make hot chocolate with his mom at 3 am because they couldn't sleep. He wanted to take a walk with Ada. He wanted to play piano with his dad. He wanted to play card games with his brother. He just wanted his family, his friends, his loved ones.

"I want to go home," he whimpered.

 _Please just let me go home._


	9. Part 9

**_This is quite the important chapter._**

* * *

He woke with a start to the smell of burning.

Burning wood, burning plastic, heat.

He wasn't even sure when he had fallen asleep, but the overwhelming scent of smoke overtook him and he didn't have the time to think about it.

The room he was in wasn't smoky, but he could see a gray fog at the base of the door. The fire was in the hallway.

"Shoot," he murmured, shoving everything in his bag that he could fit, save the knife which he put in his pocket, and slung it onto his shoulder. He zipped up his jacket and pulled the collar up over his mouth and nose. It wasn't a real mask, but he knew it would help somewhat. Being from District 3 where all the technology came from, they had enough fires in homes and places of work where they were taught fire safety from a very young age. His school had caught fire when he was in second grade. He knew just what to do.

He tightened the straps of his bag and walked to the door, where he felt the metal door handle with the back of his hand. It was cool to the touch, the fire wasn't right outside. He could get out.

He crouched down before reaching up to open the door.

A wall of thick smoke curled into the room and made his eyes sting. He tried to blink the moisture from his eyes as he listened for crackling or sizzling, any sign for the location of the fire. He heard nothing.

Slowly, he crawled towards where he remembered the stairwell to be. Smoke rises, so if the stairwell was relatively clear, the fire was likely on the floor he was on.

Unfortunately, the smoke was thick even near the stairwell. The fire was below him.

The adrenaline coursing through his body made him act before he thought through it and he started to descend the stairs on his hands and knees, backwards, keeping as low to the ground as possible. That's how Ada got around back home, she crawled up and down the stairs. The thought of her made his heart ache, but he kept going.

As he reached the bottom of the stairs, he heard crackling, but he couldn't place its location. The smoke was so thick and horrid smelling, he had no idea which direction he was facing. It smelled like hot metal and burning plastic- the little supply of electricity he had managed to find probably shorted out and caught something on fire.

He felt around carefully for the next flight of stairs. He found them, and again crawled backwards down them, into the thickest smoke he had seen yet. This floor was where the fire was.

He started on the sixth floor, this was the fourth floor. After he got down the next flight of stairs, he should be alright to stand. He'd have to move fast though, he wasn't sure how long the fire had been going on and the floor could collapse. And it wasn't like anyone was on their way to help.

He reached the bottom of the stairs and coughed into his jacket collar. While feeling around for the next set of stairs, he lost his balance and slipped halfway down the next flight of stairs on his stomach.

Winded and sore he coughed again. The smoke was thinner and higher to the ceiling now. He pushed himself up to his feet and darted down the next flights of stairs.

When he reached the first floor, he found himself bathed in yet more smoke, though this smoke was white and it filled all the space from ceiling to floor. It didn't have a smell and it was thin as mist. He stopped a moment to observe it.

How bizarre, he had never seen anything like it.

Capitol-made, definitely. Perhaps the fire wasn't real.

This white smoke, however, he couldn't figure out what it was.

He made his way out of the building, mouth and nose still covered, but he felt a bit light-headed. Smoke inhalation wasn't good for you, but hopefully, once he made it out of the building into fresh air, he'd feel better.

He found the exit and sighed in relief as he stepped out into the dim morning light. Just as he had taken off his glasses to clean them, he heard a snarl just to his left. It was too close to run from.

Frightened, he grabbed at his knife and turned slightly.

Beside him stood a sandy colored, bear-mutt, up on its hind legs and just about the height of his baby brother, teeth bared, ready to attack.

In one swift movement, Pascal slashed at the mutt, who retaliated with a slash of a big paw. Pascal dodged it and made the move to run but two other mutts ran beside him, one ruddy and large, another brown, tall and lean, both growling, and making moves to attack.

Trapped by the mutts, Pascal felt his heart in his throat beating a million miles a minute. This was how he was going to die. Ripped apart by mutts in front of the whole country while the Capitol cheered and his family cried. Someone must have had the thought to take Ada from the room, if they were awake and watching.

He was going to die by being mauled either way, so the least he could do was at least try to fight started slashing and stabbing at the bears, leaving lacerations and cuts.

One bear had fallen down with a moan of pain after a nasty wound to the throat. The large, ruddy bear, had swung his massive paw at Pascal, but missed as Pascal ducked. The bear hit the other bear hard enough that Pascal had enough time to aim his knife at both of them and slash.

The world seemed to flicker in front of his eyes for a moment.

He heard a girl cry in the distance as he stabbed the small, sandy colored creature.

The ruddy bear raised itself to its full height, but Pascal landed a blow right to the abdomen of the creature and it fell with a loud thud before a terrified Pascal made a final lunge at the small bear, taking it down as well.

All three were on the ground, making noises of agony.

He felt an odd sense of pride at the sheer feat of taking down three bear-mutts single handedly.

The world flickered once more. Pascal shook his head, trying to rid the flickering sensation from his head. He didn't like it.

A canon went off in the distance and Pascal, feeling jerked awake, turned in the direction of the boom, despite knowing he wouldn't see anything.

He turned back to look at the carnage of the bears and his stomach turned to ice.

In front of him lay three of the four remaining careers, bleeding out.

Bile rose in the back of his throat as he looked at his hands. They were coated in blood. The wounds were fatal.

"Oh my god," he breathed, shakily. "Oh my god,"

His legs gave out from beneath him and he fell to the ground.

He was a killer. He had just murdered three people.

"I'm so sorry," he said to the two still-breathing bodies and the body of the one who was already dead. "I'm so sorry,"

There was blood pooling around them from their various wounds and Pascal felt sick to his stomach. It took everything in his power not to throw up.

He couldn't stand. His entire body was trembling.

The Capitol had somehow made him see the tributes as mutts. And he had killed them. The Gamemakers were sick, twisted people. And the whole event was cruel and terrible.

Another canon went off. Tears welled up in Pascal's eyes. "Oh my god, oh my god, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

When the final of the three canons Went off, Pascal let his tears spill over. They were hot and his body shook with the force of his sobs.

He had killed three people. He was a murderer. And he wanted to die.

"I'm sorry Dad," he managed to say out loud. His father had told him not to let the Games change him, but they had. They had made him a murderer. "I'm so sorry,"

* * *

He found his mother crying in her bedroom once when he was eight years old. Eight years old with a wiggly tooth he wanted to show off. He had left his big sister and little brother out back where Pixel was trying to teach Linus how to skip.

He stopped suddenly outside the door when he heard his mother crying. The door wasn't closed all the way and curious as ever, he had peeked in. His mother was sitting on the side of the bed, crying softly.

"Mommy?" he asked tentatively. He was quite the inquisitive child and he adored his mother. His mother was a soft-spoken, gentle woman with a heart of gold.

She looked to him in surprise and started drying her eyes. "Oh, Pascal I-,"

"Why are you crying?" he asked her, pushing open the door and coming into the room. "Are you okay?"

She sniffled. "I… no, sweetheart I'm not. But you don't have to worry about me."

"But I am worried," he persisted, climbing up onto the bed next to her. "I don't like when you're sad."

She wrapped her arm around him and held him close to her side before leaning down to press a kiss to the top of his head. "You're so sweet, but I am alright."

Pascal shook his head. "You're not. I'm not little anymore. You can tell me!"

His mother sighed and wiped at her eyes again. "You're right, you're not little. You're a handsome boy who's getting so, so big."

"Will you tell me then?" he asked her, looking up at her.

"Only if you promise not to say a word to Pixel and Linus."

Pascal was very serious about promises, so he nodded solemnly.

"I… you were going to have a new little brother or sister. But… now you're… well, you're not."

"Oh," Pascal murmured. "You had a baby in your tummy?"

"I did," she replied, voice thick with tears. "But I don't now."

"You wanted the baby a lot, didn't you?"

"I did. Your dad and I wanted the baby very much."

Pascal wrapped his arms around his mother's middle and hugged her tight. "I'm sorry Mommy,"

She hugged him back.

* * *

A/ ** _N: We are down to the final five! Do you think Pascal will make it out alive? Let me know what you think!_**


	10. Part 10

_**College is wild, but I'm back!**_

* * *

Pascal was crouched by the stream, scrubbing his hands off in the water. The blood had long since rinsed off and his hands were wrinkled. But he didn't care.

He could hardly see past the tears that filled his eyes.

He was trembling all over. He had killed three people, three children. He was a murderer. And he was sick to his stomach over it.

How dare the Capitol make him kill against his will like that! It was cruel. It was an awful way to kill, to believe you were defending yourself from creatures but were only killing peers. He hadn't wanted to kill to begin with, but the fact that the Gamemakers had used his brain against him to force him to kill made it feel even more wrong. He was disgusted at the Gamemakers, the Capitol, the Games themselves, and himself.

If he had done the math right, there were four people left, plus himself. He was in the final five. He couldn't believe he had made it that far.

He couldn't believe what he had done.

Finally after what could have been hours, he pulled his hands from the stream and dried then on his pants before wiping at the tears on his cheeks. His face was sticky with the dried tears he had cried and his glasses were speckled too. Sighing, he took his glasses off and leaned over, splashing water on his face with still-shaking hands. He scrubbed at the tear tracks with his palms before dampening the edge of his shirt and wiping the grime off the lenses of his glasses. He dried them on a dry part of his shirt and slid them back on. He blinked once, twice. He could see clearly again.

He could see nothing but the small forested area before him and the oddly beautiful orange and pink superimposed sunset. No movements, no signs of life from any human or creature. Somehow, that was worse than seeing someone coming for him.

They were down to the final five. The rest of the tributes had to know that it was nearing the end. Pascal knew there were typically two things tributes did; hide until the very last possible moment or they are spotted, or recklessly tramp around looking for someone to kill. The very thought of killing someone else made his stomach churn more than it already was and he squeezed his eyes shut to try to ignore the feeling, but all he saw were the faces of the people he had killed.

He hadn't eaten in a while, but he knew that in the state he was in right now, nothing would stay down if he tried. He had some food supplies in his backpack for later, if he felt like eating.

If someone didn't find him first.

He sighed. He shouldn't be there in that arena. He should be at home, dancing around the living room with Ada while his father the played the piano. He should be helping his brother fix a robot or watching his sister organize data on the computer while she painted her nails, or washing dishes while his mom hummed absently. He should be anywhere but here, they all should be. No one deserved this fate. No one deserved to be made a murderer or to be killed. Especially not children.

His eyes stung once more as he thought of Raine, so young and sweet, how she was cruelly pulled from her family, her baby sister, forever. Agnes, his brother's classmate, even if she was irritating, she didn't deserve to die. Maverick didn't either. No one, not one single tribute had ever deserved what they were given.

His own brother had three more Reapings, Ada's name could be pulled some day. The thought was unbearable. It wasn't fair.

From somewhere, a scream echoed, jerking Pascal from his thoughts. He pushed himself to stand on his shaky feet. Someone had been found.

He couldn't tell how close they were from the scream. Pascal wasn't close to any good hiding places. He could either jump the creek and run into the trees, or run about the same distance back towards the decrepit city.

He thought for a moment. And then he jumped and made a mad dash for the tree line. His pace was ragged and uneven, his legs felt like rubber. Just as he crossed into the trees, a canon sounded. Pascal's heart leapt to his throat and he carried on running for another few moments before falling to his knees besides a large oak, gasping for breath. He wasn't sure if the difficulty breathing was just because if the running, or if it was because his anxiety was through the roof as well. His chest was so tight, he felt so sick.

And now there were four tributes.

They must all be fairly close together, as the Gamemakers hadn't announced a feast, as they sometimes did when the tributes were spread out too much for their liking towards the end. They would be doing something soon though, something to get the final four together so they could have a finale. A few years ago, they had flooded the arena and the girl from 4 won simply because she was a strong swimmer. Pascal couldn't guess what they had planned, but he knew it wouldn't be pretty.

He decided that he would try and get some rest before that happened. He leaned against the tree and closed his eyes. He was exhausted, but sleep wouldn't come. The faces of the tributes he had killed seemed to be taped to his eyelids.

* * *

A medical intern handed the little bundle to him, placed it in his shaking arms.

"She's beautiful," the young woman said kindly, giving him a soft, sad smile.

Pascal smiled a bit in response before turning his attention to the new life in his arms. His heart swelled the moment he looked at her. Rowena's features were already visible on her pink face and she was absolutely beautiful. Tears stung his eyes. She was his now, he supposed. His responsibility, his everything. He was a father now, at sixteen years old, and it was all a lie.

He was playing a dangerous game in lying about this, but Rowena would have wanted him to keep her baby girl safe. And he would do that, no matter what it took. He had a feeling this wasn't the first time he would be lying to protect the child now nestled in his arms.

"Have you given any thought to a name?" asked the intern.

"Ada," Pascal said, without hesitation. Rowena had chosen that name, she had told him on her last birthday. The very least he could do was honor her wishes. "Ada Grace Fierwel,"

The intern smiled again and nodded politely. She said something about giving him time alone with the baby and congratulated him before leaving the room.

His parents were on their way up probably. They had gone to see about arrangements for Rowena. They had no idea what he had done, but he would explain it to them when he got the chance. There was no way he was letting Rowena's baby get taken and places in the Community Home. This child deserved to be loved. It would be hard, but he could do it, he had to, for Row.

He had nearly fallen to his knees when he had been told Rowena had not survived giving birth. He wasn't exactly sure why she had passed, his brain seemed to shut off and he had immediately dissolved into tears. His mother, who had been sitting beside him, pulled him into her arms and held him tight. When the doctor said the baby was being looked over, but they could see Rowena if they'd like, Pascal looked up again. He had to. He had to say goodbye.

She had almost looked like she was sleeping to Pascal, but her skin was cool to the touch. Even so, he pressed a quick kiss to her cheek and told her he loved her, like he always did.

After a few moments, they had gone back to the waiting room, where Pascal was left to compose himself while his parents made a sad procession to try and contact Rowena's parents. It was there he overheard that the baby would be sent to the Home if the father or Rowena's parents didn't step up to claim the baby. He made his decision right then, to lie and say that he was the baby's father.

The staff had bought the story, about he and Rowena being together, but too shy to be public about it, and too shy to be honest about what they had done. It helped, he supposed, that he and Row were painfully close, that she was holding his hand when she came in. No one questioned it. It was almost too easy.

After his false admission, he had been lead back to meet the child. He realized then that he may have never even had met the child had she been sent off .

Part of him felt terrible for lying. He knew this could get him, his while family and trouble, and Ada taken from him. But he couldn't just let her be sent away. He would have to be careful. But he would do anything for Row, and therefore the little girl he was cradling. He was doing the right thing, he knew that. But he also knew it wouldn't be easy.

The baby cooed softly.

Pascal's throat was both too dry and too wet and his eyes filled with tears as he whispered, "You look so much like your mom."

The baby, his daughter, blinked open her brilliant blue eyes and she looked up at him.

"I love you, Ada Grace. Always,"


	11. Part 11

_**Gosh, it sure has been a while! I won't hold you for long, just know that I've missed writing very much and I hope you like this chapter.**_

* * *

Pascal was fairly certain he hadn't slept, although it was hard to tell in the state he was in. He also was unsure what time it was, or was supposed to be, in the arena. It had been dark for what felt like an unusual amount of time.

Once he became aware of the extended darkness, he felt as though his consciousness had snapped back into his body. He had a great feeling of unease. The forest was absolutely silent, though it had been anything but quiet the entirety of the Games so far. The realization settled into his stomach like a block of ice.

The Gamemakers clearly had something ready to go. Pascal wasn't sure what, but he knew something was coming. He checked his pack and stood, sliding his pack onto his back and felt the deep feeling of dread overtake his body. He felt as though he was trembling at the cellular level. Everything felt wrong, his throat burned and he felt tingling in his fingers.

 _Go_ , said his entire body.

And he ran.

He ran back out of the woods. Even though he had gone there for safety, he felt deep within his bones that the woods were more dangerous than the ruins of the city. He didn't question his intuition, he didn't have the time. He just ran.

The pounding of his sneakers over the twigs and leaves strewn about the forest floor were rivaling only the beating of his own heart. His breathing was shallow and labored as he ran. He had never been the most athletic person and it showed. Even in his fear, Pascal could hear his physical education teacher's voice in the back of his head.

" _Fix your form, Fierwel! You aren't going to get away from the Cornucopia like that!"_

If only he knew.

The thumping of the pack on his back kept time to his awkward footfalls and was the only thing keeping him from completely going into pure survival mode.

If he hadn't been hyper-aware of the presence of his pack, he might have missed the rest of his surroundings until it was too late.

"Fuck!" Shouted a voice from somewhere on Pascal's right side.

Surprised by the vulgarity, he turned to look and saw the last girl remaining, the female from 2. She was a Career and certainly looked the part. She was 18 like him, but she had spent her whole life training for this. He didn't stop running, though the thought of her getting bleeped on television did make him smile a bit.

"Why is it that there's always one total dork left at the end, huh?" She shouted, fumbling with some kind of weapon that was strapped to her hip.

Pascal didn't slow to see what she was grabbing, he changed direction slightly and ran toward the tree line. He was almost to the clearing when his foot caught on a rock and he tumbled to the ground in a panting, trembling heap. He was too shocked to do anything at first, his brain fogged by the surprise of the fall and the sudden pain in his ankle, but he got his wits about him soon enough and tried to scramble away, but he was too late.

A foot appeared on his chest and pressed him back to the ground, pinning his backpack against him. He fumbled around in his pants pocket to find his knife, but it was gone. It must have fallen out in his mad dash.

"I bet you do something lame like make lightbulbs in Three, right?" the girl snorted, a batton in her hand. Now that he could see her better, he recalled her name- Jolie. "You didn't deserve to make it this far."

It was hard to breathe with her foot pressed to his chest, but Pascal strained to hold his neck up and managed to squeak out something. "Please,"

He was desperate and scared. He knew it would do no good to beg for mercy, but he was out of options at this point.

The girl laughed cruelly as a look of realization crossed her face. "Oh you're the idiot who knocked up some girl aren't you? Got the little girl back home?"

The Career stomped on his chest.

Pascal gasped for air.

"I hope she's watching," she sneered, raising her weapon of choice above her head.

Pascal closed his eyes, waiting for the impact. He summoned a memory of Ada sitting on his lap, slamming piano keys and giggling.

The whistling of an arrow by his head and the removal of weight from his chest made him open his eyes.

"Fuck you!" The Career girl shouted, facing away from Pascal now. Pascal hurried to his feet while she was distracted. "I almost had him! What exactly do you think you're doing, Sterling?"

The boy from 1 was holding a bow loaded with another arrow, glaring at her. He did not speak, only aimed his weapon. Pascal started away as fast as he could on what he was certain was at least a sprained ankle.

"Put that fucking thing down. Don't be stupid!"

"Final four, Jolie. Allies mean nothing now." Sterling replied coolly.

Jolie rushed him, batton raised above her head. He abandoned his weapon and grabbed her at the waist. She shouted and swung her batton. Sterling shoved her to the ground.

Typical Careers, putting on a show.

Pascal dropped to his hands and knees, having decided that crawling would be a more effective way for him to move at the moment. He was headed for the city ruins. He was no longer facing the wrestling and arguing Careers.

He had made it a decent distance away when he heard a loud thunk, snap, and a groan.

"Stupid ass, you broke 'em both." Jolie said just before a canon sounded.

Sterling was dead.

And Jolie would be after him next.

Pascal pushed himself back up to his feet and, ignoring the piercing pain in his ankle, took off in a full sprint towards the city ruins, even more lopsided than before.

He cast a glance over his shoulder at Jolie. She looked furious. She was fast, but weaponless, and he had a head start, however awkward it was.

His heart was beating hard in his bruised chest and he could feel it in his throat.

"Playing hard to get, are we, nerd?" Jolie shouted after him as he leapt over the stream he had washed the blood off his hands. It could have been hours ago, or even days. He didn't know anymore. But he kept running, directing his attention to the second tallest ruin in the city. He had been in the tallest before, that was the one that had been on fire. It was still standing, but he didn't trust it.

The surface beneath his feet turned from grass to asphalt, and after what felt like an eternity, Pascal was only a hundred feet to the entrance to the building. He was going for the air vents, if he could get away from Jolie long enough to sneak into one.

He flung open the heavy glass door and heard a yelp.

Jolie had been closer to him than he thought. Pascal looked over his shoulder as he ran. The door had smacked her square in the nose and blood began pouring out of it. She wiped it on her arm.

"You little fucker," she spat, loud enough for him to hear through the door, reaching for the door handle.

The ground shook and the air filled with a deep rumble, just like it did when a train was coming into the station back home, and Pascal froze for a moment. Even Jolie turned to look towards the source of the noise.

All at once, a large pack of what seemed to be gruesomely oversized, chattering rats ran towards Jolie, and because she was caught by surprise, took her down with a yelp.

Pascal felt his heart fall into his stomach and he ran further down the hallway, trying to ignore the screaming that echoed behind him.

There were no air vents he could see down the hallway, and by the time he had gotten to the stairs he had stopped looking. As stupid as it was, Pascal started up the stairs as fast as he could, holding onto the railing.

He had just reached the second floor when a canon sounded and shook the foundation of the dilapidated building.

"No, no, no." Pascal whispered. He was in the final two. Impossible.

He had lost any semblance of a plan days ago. He had no idea what he was doing or where he was going. Was the last person in this building with him? He wasn't sure if he cared anymore. If he went back outside, he'd be eaten by rat mutts and he didn't want his family to see that.

The building was silent as he climbed the stairs like a mountain, huffing and puffing. He reached the door that would lead to the roof and turned the handle. He stepped onto the roof. The temperature had dropped in the short while he had been inside and the stark difference made him shiver.

He could hear scraping against the glass and brick, lots of it. Likely the rats trying to get in. The sound sent a chill down Pascal's spine. It was like scrape of a thousand forks against a dinner plate, over and over and much too loud. He dared to walk closer to the edge of the roof and looked down. It was indeed the rats.

His heavy and labored breathing grew quick and shallow and a familiar feeling settled over him as hot tears pricked his eyes.

This was potentially the worst time to have a panic attack in the history of anxiety attacks. He already couldn't think straight and now… now his brain felt like mush.

"Just you and me, isn't it?" said a voice after a moment.

From out of the shadows crept the other tribute that was still standing, twirling a knife in his fingers. Pascal couldn't recall his name or District. All he knew is that he and the boy were roughly the same height and that they were both from non-career Districts. That was a rarity. He was also injured, the other boy, a deep cut with dried blood over one eye. It looked horrific and painful.

Pascal knew the only reason the boy was staring him down was because Jolie had been stalled by the door hitting her nose and hadn't been able to catch up to Pascal.

He was never supposed to make it this far.

Pascal squeezed his hands into fists to try and hide their shakiness. The boy came closer. Pascal tensed.

"Shame, really, that we had to meet like this. I think we all could have been friends if not for the circumstances." the boy said. He came closer to Pascal until they were only an arm's distance apart. They were facing each other. One step to Pascal's left and he'd be off the roof. One step to his right and the other boy would go down. Precarious wasn't the word.

"I'm… I'm sorry." The boy said, raising the hand with the knife. His hands were shaking too.

Pascal did not make a move to defend himself or fight back. He had no weapon anyway. He braced himself for the knife he knew was coming.

This was it, truly.

Memories of Ada cuddled against him flooded his mind, snippets of music, images of his sister's smile, of his brother's laugh, his father's hugs and his mother's forehead kisses.

And then, he remembered Rowena and her sweet smile and Auburn hair, of her hugs and how she would squeeze his hand when she was scared. If there was a Heaven, or at least a somewhere after this life, he hoped he'd meet her there.

A single tear rolled down Pascal's cheek as he squeezed his eyes shut.

The boy swung his arm, but he never touched Pascal.

Pascal opened his eyes in just enough time to see the boy teetering on the edge of the roof.

It felt as everything happened in slow motion.

With only one good eye, the boy was lacking depth perception and his wildly inaccurate attempt at striking Pascal with the knife ended up throwing him off-balance.

He tried to keep himself on the roof with a frantic waving of his arms, but it was pointless.

The boy fell towards the ground, silent as a mouse, as if he were resigned to his fate. Pascal was incapable of helping him, though every part of him wanted to.

Pascal looked away just before the boy reached the pavement. The sound of the rats descending on a fresh meal covered any noise made by the impact.

Pascal felt his stomach jerk, but he steadied himself.

"I'm sorry," he whispered to the air, to the boy that was gone now.

The canon sounded.

A booming voice rang through the Arena, "Ladies and gentlemen, the Victor of the 72nd Hunger Games, District Three's Pascal Fierwel."

And then everything went black.


End file.
